To Be Required
by DrarryandChill
Summary: Draco needs a place to be alone. Harry storms off after another row with Ginny. Two paths that should never cross, and a room that has a mind of its own.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

 **Harry:**

"UGGHH!" Harry bangs his head against the wall beside the portrait hole, meriting a withering look from the Fat Lady. "Oh, shove off," he grumbles at her, pushing away from the wall and stalking down the corridor. This situation is not unusual as of late.

In the beginning, his relationship with Ginny was everything that could have been expected- It seemed only natural that they would end up together eventually, and they'd known each other for years. There were no awkward silences, no time when one couldn't make the other laugh. At least, there hadn't been. Now though, he couldn't even figure out what page she was on. He had serious doubts as to whether they were even reading the same story. After what she'd said in the common room-

"UGGGH!" He yells again, and kicks the corridor wall. Why did she have to be so complicated? Why can't they just be happy? Why does she have to ask questions like that- Questions he didn't know, didn't even want to know the answer to? She expected too much from him. Her words flood through his mind again in a new wave of anger.

" _Harry, this isn't working._ _ **You**_ _don't want this. Why don't you want this?Tell me that, Mister All-In-Good-Time, Mister Give-_ _ **ME**_ _-A-Break-Gin, I-Have-A-Lot-On-_ _ **My**_ _-Mind! We ALL DO HARRY JAMES POTTER! VOLDEMORT IS BACK HARRY. WE ARE_ _ **ALL**_ _SCARED OUT OF OUR MINDS, AND I'M SO SICK OF HEARING YOU USE IT AS AN EXCUSE TO DEAL WITH THE THINGS YOU ARE AFRAID TO FACE! This is PATHETIC! You aren't the type to lead people on- So what is it? I think you should figure it out. I can't do this. I care about you, but I can't do this. "_

" _YOU DON'T CARE!"_ He'd screamed at her. " _IF YOU DID YOU WOULDN'T GIVE UP ON ME! YOU WOULDN'T MAKE ME ANSWER THESE QUESTIONS!"_

Especially when I don't know what the answers are, Harry thinks now, walking up a flight of stairs, mindless in his eagerness to be anywhere but where she is. He reaches a landing and begins to pace. He hums a song he heard on Dean's Muggle Radio the night before in a poor attempt to avoid the thoughts hounding his conscience. It isn't working, so he desperately resorts to murmuring the words under his breathe. " _You and I, we don't want to be like them, we can make it 'till the end, nothing can come between you and iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-"_ He stops when he sees it. The door. It hadn't been there his last rotation, he was sure he would have noticed it. He glances around, confused and disoriented. His glance lands at last on the portrait across the way. Barnabus the Barmy leers out at him from the frame with disdain. "You going in or what, Mister Scar?" The portrait asks in a croaky voice.

Harry's confusion, however, has not ebbed. In fact, he is even more befuddled. "I didn't ask for anything," he says, and the man in the frame scowls back mockingly. "Must've," he retorts, "else what would it be showin' up for?".

It occurred to Harry, briefly, that he could just walk away. There was, of course, no rule about whether one must _enter_ the room once it had been summoned. However, that thought was gone as soon as it came. _He'd summoned it_ , whether or not he quite understood how, or why. The fact of the matter is that the door is there, plain as day in the usually empty corridor. And whatever is behind it, he obviously needed.

He took hold of the bronze handle, took a deep breath, and turned the knob. Exhaling, trying to drown out Barnabus's quiet, snide chuckling, Harry stepped into the Room of Requirement.

Draco:

Draco was sulking. She knew he was sulking, Blaise knew he was sulking, even Crabbe and Goyle had caught on. Draco knew he was sulking. Given the circumstances, however, he felt perfectly entitled to a long and pitiful sulk. Not that he was pitiful. Just indignant. He did not understand how Pansy could go about making assumptions like that, especially about someone like Potter. "I mean really," he grumbled to Barnabas as he paced to and fro along the corridor making his usual request. I need somewhere where no one can find me. I need somewhere to think. I need somewhere to...

He never said cry, because Malfoys simply don't cry, but the room seemed to know what he needed. Good thing too, because his eyes were already starting to well, and Old Barmy was even fouler when faced with tears.

He lays face down on the soft, white carpet, a throw pillow clutched tightly in his hands, and begins to finally let a single tear slide down his face, followed by another, and then all at once, emotions spilling out over his ashamed, broken form. He doesn't make a sound, but it is as if his sorrow fills the room with noise.

That's when the door opens.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

 **Draco:**

It is never a pleasant thing to be caught weeping into a throw pillow, especially not a throw pillow you summoned for the implicit purpose of crying into, and especially when said person plays an embarrassing role in your angst. Hence, it is safe to say that Harry _flipping_ Potter was not, in fact, the person Draco wanted to appear in the doorway.

Yet, here he was. And he was looking at Draco. _Concerned._ Shocked, sure-though not nearly as much as Draco, who was perfectly clear in his directions that _no one_ should find him-but also undeniably concerned. Of course he was. Savior Potter, he would worry after a _troll_ if one let him close enough.

Quicky, Draco sits up, trying to readjust his expression into a perfectly mastered mask of contempt. Not that Potter will give up. Of course not. He opens his mouth to speak, and Draco interrupts him.

"Lost your way, Potter?" He had meant for his voice to come out scathing, or at the very least mocking, as if Potter should be the ashamed one. However, it is not so. What it _is_ , is pathetic. Draco's voice shakes and the statement ends like a question. You can still hear the sob that had been building in his throat. _God Damn it._

 _Pull it together,_ he thinks, just as Potter opens his mouth again, and this time Draco isn't quick enough to stop him.

"W-What are _you_ doing here? Are you- Are you okay?"

And here Draco thought _he_ stuttered. He smirks again, but this time it comes across with greater, if not perfect, credibility.

"Me? I was just settling down for a nice, long nap, before you so _rudely_ interrupted. I think the real question is what are _you_ doing here, Potter?"

Well. at least the first part sounded halfway credible. The last sentence came out in a croak, as Draco was both desperate and terrified to know the answer. Any answer. Some sort of rationality. The reason why Harry James Potter, of all the people, was able to find the place he had wished _unchartable_.

But when the green eyed boy struggled to answer, Draco knew he was just as clueless as he was.

"I was pacing... didn't wish for anything... the door just _appeared_..." He mumbled, bewildered.

Draco's heart drops to the floor- He has to fix this. No matter what he has to do, has to say, he has to keep Potter from knowing the truth. It is the truth isn't it? It has to be, or else why would the door have- _Later_ , he urges himself, _we will think about all this_ _ **later**_. Right now, he has to stop the boy across from him from thinking about it.

Draco raises his gaze, leveling his grey eyes to the green ones.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Draco does something he is quite accustomed to doing.

Draco lies.

 **Harry:**

He's lying.

Harry can tell.

It's one of those things you pick up about a person, if you watch them enough. Harry had done enough watching Draco Malfoy to last a lifetime over. He can tell before the grey eyed boy even opens his mouth that what comes out of it won't be true.

"The room must have made a mistake."

Even if Harry hadn't known that Malfoy's ring finger on his right hand twitched when he lied, he would have known the boy was fibbing. The room didn't _make_ mistakes, Draco knew that as well as he did.

He was definitely lying. What Harry couldn't understand is, Why? Why lie about something so bizarre? They were both confused, weren't they? They could at least _tried_ to figure it out like normal human beings, couldn't they?

Ugh. Harry was so not in the mood for Malfoy's shit right now, especially now that he knew nothing enlightening could possibly come from the conversation. He thinks to leave, taking a glance at the pale face, still etched with...

Tears. In his confusion he had almost forgotten that Malfoy had been crying when he walked in. On the floor. Holding a throw pillow. Actually, _clutching_ a throw pillow.

Harry sighed. He couldn't just _leave_ now, could he?

"Malfoy-"

"Listen Potter, I know you won't understand, but this isn't a therapy session. So leave, and take your dead parent issues with you. I'm not a charity case you can solve, Chosen One."

On second thought, he _could_ just leave after all. And he was going to do just that, before he lost his temper and hexed Malfoy into next term. He turned haughtily, stomped over to the door, and flung it open.

Or at least he would have, if it had budged.


	3. Chapter 3

**Draco:**

Potter has seemingly lost the ability to open a door. One would think this unlikely, what with all that quidditch toning his muscles ...Not, Draco thought, that he would have noticed. Draco payed little attention to Potter's physique, obviously, but some things were hard to miss. Like the lean, solid shoulders broadening steadily over the term,visible even through the boy's robes. Or the way his red and orange school tie hung, always undone, across a smooth plane of tight chest. Or the way his midriff formed hills and valleys when he tugged his muggle sweatshirt over his head, the way it got caught on his glasses. These... These were just things anybody with two eyes and even half decent observation skills would notice. This fact however, failed to make Draco feel any better, and he, of course, would never admit to these observations, _inevitable_ as they obviously were.

Having made these observations, he quickly determined that there were few doors Potter should not have been able to open, and this steel one, solid as it may be, was not one of them.

"Having trouble?"

He asked, the all familiar, safe sarcasm coloring his voice again.

Yes, this was better.

When Harry turned around however, it was not with the equally familiar sassy retort Draco had been expecting. Instead, his green eyes were wide in panic, his dark eyebrows drawn together in frustration, and his pink lips round with disbelief.

Draco's stomach hit the floor as the boy spoke the words Draco feared he would.

 **Harry:**

"It won't open."

Grey eyes widened in disbelief.

"What do you mean it won't-"

"I mean it won't open, Malfoy."

He expected Malfoy to march over and try the door himself, but instead he sank to the floor. He watchs uncomfortably as Draco picks up the throw pillow he'd been crying into just minutes before, huggs it in close to his chest, sighs, and leans back against the soft upholstery of the armchair behind him.

For the first time, Harry begins to notice the room in which he found himself. For a reflection of the slytherin's deepest needs, Harry has to admit, he's surprised. He thought it would be a little... Darker. Like, torture devices and dark marks or something. At least some dim lighting. Instead, there was something completely different. _Light_. Everywhere. It was enchanting, taking on properties Harry never even knew light could possess,floating like celestial spirits over their heads.

"This place...It's beautiful."

"Of course it is. I made it."


	4. Chapter 4

**Draco:**

Leave it to him to ruin the moment... That _had_ been a moment, hadn't it? For a second it had seemed... But no, it couldn't have been. Whatever it was, it was over now, and Potter had looked away. Draco couldn't blame him; he'd been rude. Even for him.

It occurred to Draco, then, that they had no idea when the door would open, if at all. They had no way of knowing whether or not it was even still accessible from the outside. Draco suspected it wasn't. It had appeared for Harry for a reason, one which he was _not_ thinking about, and had probably locked them in for the same purpose. Which he was, surprisingly, _not thinking about_. If he was going to survive through the end of this nightmare, tempting as demise so often is for Draco, he could _not_ think about what Pansy had said. Period. He had to focus on something else. Anything else.

He wishes they were in a different room. This is the only place where Draco has never had to monitor his thoughts, and the restriction lays heavy against his chest, making it hard to breathe. The thought of Potter,, in the only safe space he had ever known. This beautiful, concerned, _frustrating_ boy, swimming in his light. Standing in his room. Letting the shafts of heaven cast an ethereal glow around him, turning messy hair to fluid raven's wing, grey eyes to swimming pools of jade. Draco can't breathe.

Draco can't breathe.

There was a tightness in his chest, throat, that was all too familiar,

And Draco can't breathe.

He watches the green pools widen in alarm, as voice called out to him.

Right before he goes down, desperately trying to draw in air,

The insanity in his mind allows Draco only two thoughts:

The first, that he definitely should have brought his inhaler.

The second, that he was going to die, and these green orbs, _Harry Potter's eyes_ , will be the last thing he sees.

And for the first time in a long time,

Draco Malfoy is purely, inexplicably happy.

Then it all goes black.

 **Harry:**

Draco Malfoy is going to die in his arms, and Harry didn't even kill him. Ironic? Oh yes. Ginny was going to crack up. Harry, however, fails to see the humor in this death. Possibly because he is too busy frantically attempting to stop it. He thinks back to the minute before Draco went down.


	5. Chapter 5

**Harry:**

He'd started acting all haywire after Harry called his room beautiful. It was kind of out of the usual, but Harry didn't think his comment was shocking enough to induce cardiac arrest. Harry remembered the way the boy's breathing had sped up, gasping, clutching his stomach. _Hyperventilating._ All the sudden, it clicked in Harry's mind. He's seen this before, the countless times over the years when his best friend had fallen to the floor in a fit of tears and ragged, desperate breathe, the way he said his chest gripped, how he wrapped his arm around his middle to prevent the explosion he was sure was ready to rip him apart from the inside.

Harry heaves a sigh of relief. Living with Ron made Harry very prepared to deal with a Panic attack.

Quickly Harry performs the spell, whispering " _Spiritum"_ under his breath, allowing the soft blue light to pass through Draco's chest. He holds his breath, waiting for some sign of life. When one arrives, the flicker of an eyelid, Harry sighs again, tears of relief welling in his eyes, in spite of himself. Draco Malfoy is _not_ going to die in his arms today.

He pulls the grey eyed boy closer, out of habit, running his fingers gently through pale locks of hair. He does what he always does for Ron, when he has an episode. The pale eyelids flutter open, a soft moan passing through the pink lips. For a few moments, the grey eyes see nothing, and Harry allows himself the simple, forbidden pleasure of peering into them. Good things never last forever , and he waits for the blow up, breath held, eyes closed. He waits for the grey eyes, now unseeing, to see everything-The illusion shattered, as fragile and silent in demise as the shards of light that lay broken on the carpet, haloing the demon. Making angels of devils.

 _Yet this boy_ , Harry thinks, looking down into content, peaceful grey eyes, _this boy is no devil_.

He knows he shouldn't. He knows that Draco can never be known as any other name but enemy, and he knows that one day he will see him across the point of his wand and will die for his own weakness. Because as much as Harry knows, knows that this is his fate, that there is no way to stop the inevitable, Harry knows one thing with more certainty. Harry knows that he will never end Draco Malfoy's life. He will probably die for it.

The grey eyes come into focus now, and Harry braces himself for impact. None comes. The grey eyes only widen in gentle surprise, to be replaced with a small smile. Harry stops thinking, stops breathing, his heart momentarily still.

Pale lips open around soft vowels, barely a whisper. But Harry hears, and he wishes he could just hear it over and over, never leaving this place, this moment, caught in a constant time lapse. Wishes he could hear how the boy's voice trails off at the end of each syllable, almost unsure. The way the name slid from his lips, brimming with forbidden promise.

" _Harry."_

 **Draco:**

Dying wasn't so bad. Dying wasn't bad at all, actually. The carpet in the room was so soft, Draco didn't even feel his head hit the ground, still full of green. He woke up to green, if you can call still call it waking up. Do the dead ever sleep? Draco suspects so, for he is exhausted. It doesn't _feel_ any different, being dead, not like he thought it might. He's thought about it a lot the last four months, and he thought he had imagined it all. Hell, mostly. Maybe even limbo. Not once had he pictured this. He knew he'd never make it to heaven. But he must've, because only in heaven would he be so close to these pools of green, head resting on this boy's warm lap, smooth hands working their way through his hair. Only in heaven would the green eyed boy's cheeks color at the gentle utterance of his name. Harry. He says it again, just because he can, stretching out the A, making the word sound like a prayer. Draco supposes, in a way, it is.

" _Harry."_

The jet haired boy doesn't speak, only smiles lightly, his flush creeping up his neck, coloring the tip of his nose. For a moment, Draco can do nothing but stare into Harry's face, taking it all in, engrossed, etching this moment into his mind, just in case. Just in case this was all about t o end, in case God and his angels were just teasing him, ready to drag him straight to hell any moment. Draco would go. He would go, and he would go happily after seeing this. The rose lips opened, curling around whispered, nervous words.

" _Draco. I'm so glad you're okay..."_

Harry's words caught in his throat, tears welling in his eyes, threatening to spill over his sunset cheeks.

" _For a minute, I thought you were gone forever."_

Draco's heart stopped as the words sunk in. He wasn't dead. He wasn't dead, and he was in Harry Potter's lap. He wasn't dead and Harry Potter's hands were in his hair. He wasn't dead, and _he_ had been worried. Draco wasn't dead, and _he_ had almost cried. He wasn't dead, and _Harry_ had just called him Draco.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's note: Shoutout to Alex for pushing me to update this fic! I know it has been a while but I hope some of you are still interested. This chapter is v. short, but that is just to leave room for the majorly long chapter I have in store for tomorrow. Comment and tell me which way this should go! Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter it would be a whole lot gayer._

He is never removing his hands from Draco Malfoy's hair. It is official. They are going to stay there, because as long as Harry can wrap his fingers around soft tendrils, the boy is trapped, and Harry can just stare down at him. Harry could spend _hours_ staring down at him. Again, he plans to. But then Draco moves, and it is all Harry can do not to groan in protest as the blonde strands slip out of his fingertips.

 **Draco**

Draco needs to talk. He needs to talk like he needs to breath.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: Big thanks to everyone following this story, it means the world to me. This chapters a little late, but also a little long, so I say we call it even. If you have any ideas on what should happen next, feel free to leave a comment. 3_

 **Draco**

But what would he say that wouldn't ruin this moment? He knew Harry wasn't really feeling anything positive towards him, he knew this was _nothing_. Just Potter being Potter. This... mood, it wasn't anything besides the afterglow of another display of foolish Gryffindor courage, nothing but the satisfaction of saving yet _another_ peasant.

Once he realized that the peasant was still Draco, this pleasant moment would end. Abruptly. And that would only happen faster if Draco opened his mouth. So, even though he had so much to say, he settled to be content with the silence; with simply looking at him, feeling his arms, warm around Draco.

He could let this be enough.

So, quietly, and without making eye contact, Draco lays back down across Harry's lap. Harry stiffens, and Draco holds his breath, afraid that he'd already broken the spell. A moment later, however, he smiled with a sigh, as rough fingers wound through his hair again.

He could let this be enough.

 **Harry**

He wasn't ready to think about whatever was happening right now. But he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop thinking about this boy, this infuriating, stubborn boy laying across his lap. This boy who'd called him Harry.

He knew it was just a name, of course he did. But for some reason, he'd never quite heard his name like that. It felt like it belonged to someone else when Draco said it. He made it sound like poetry. Harry had never felt like poetry before. People had written poems _about_ him, too many to count, but they were always about Potter, about the scar and the legacy and the chosen one bullshit. When Draco said his name, Harry felt like a poem was made for _him_ , not the person people wanted him to be. It was magic. He was suddenly overcome by the desire to hear it again.

"Draco..."

There was a pause, a sharp intake of breath.

"Potter."

Harry's heart sank.

"You called me Harry before."

"Well, that was before."

Harry sighed and started to get up, since obviously this conversation wasn't going anywhere.

Suddenly, Draco spoke again.

"Why does it matter what I call you?"

Harry blushed, and Draco's eyes widened.

"It doesn't. Just drop it."

But it did, and Harry hated himself for it. It mattered so much.

"Okay. Harry."

The voice was surprisingly tentative. Harry looked down at the pale boy. His breath caught in his throat. Draco's hair was a mess, the only time he'd ever seen it look anything but perfect. His cheeks are flushed, the way they were when he played quidditch or debated in class. It made him look alive. Harry smiled, he couldn't help it.

"Oh quit it scarhead, if I knew it would make you so dopey I wouldn't have done it."

Harry shoved him, laughing at the smile in the other boy's voice.

"Shove it," He advised.

 **Draco**

They sat like that for a while, making smart ass remarks and using every excuse to use the other's name. Then Harry finally came to and asked the obvious question.

"Draco?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"How are we going to get out of here?"

Draco sighed. He supposed it was necessary to figure that out, as much as the idea displeased a small voice inside him.

"No clue. Any ideas?"

A pause.

"Potter."

"Malfoy you have to tell me what you were doing in here. It's the only way we'll ever find out why I got locked in here."

Draco felt his heart clench.

He couldn't tell Potter. God, he couldn't even admit it to himself. How weak, how childish, to escape for the purpose of crying into a pillow. He knew what that sounded like. He knew how he'd react if someone told him that. And he knew how Potter would react. He would put his stupid savior hat back on, and Draco didn't think he could handle that.

"No."

"Draco, we have to-"

"Potter I can't."

There was silence while Harry worked out what to say.

"The old quidditch locker room." He finally blurted out.

That was certainly _not_ what Draco had been expecting.

"What?"

"That's my place. I go there when I need to... Be by myself. If someone walked in on me there, I'd feel awful. I wouldn't want to talk about it. I understand. You don't have to say anything. We will figure out some other way."

Damn it. Stupid Potter, with his stupid voice and his stupid _caring_ that made Draco want to tell him everything, Damn him to hell. Well, he certainly wasn't going to give in. No sir. He opened his mouth to say something snarky.

"I was crying."

Okay, so _not_ the witty comeback Draco had been shooting for. He opened his mouth, shocked at his own betrayal. Damn Potter. He waited. Harry didn't speak. Draco took a breath.

"Pansy found out something, and she won't leave it alone and it's really frustrating because-"

"Draco you really don't have to-"

"Just listen, Potter. Do you want to get out of here or not?"

He took another, labored breath. If he wasn't careful, Potter would have to use his fancy inhaler charm again.

"She found out, and the most frustrating part about it is that she keeps trying to give me _hope_ , like I deserve hope, like I deserve fucking _anything_. She believes I'm a good person, and it's so fucking draining, because she knows better. She knows where I come from. What my father has done. What _I've_ done, and she still thinks I deserve this and I don't know how to kindly tell her I'm a worthless piece of -"

"Stop." Potter looked at him, angry,

"Potter we have to get out of here, and this is the best way to -"

"No, Malfoy. You stop right now and listen to me while we make something _really_ clear. You are not a worthless piece of shit. You are _not_ a bad person."

Draco snorted.

"Put the savior back in its box, Potter. You've hated me since we were eleven. Anyway, I think you're missing the whole point of-"

"No."

"As I was saying, she just has this unbelievable idea that I- Wait, what?"

"I said no, Draco. I have not hated you since we were eleven."

"Yes and Weasley is a blonde. Can I get on with my story now?"

Harry groaned in frustration, and stood up, leaving Draco on the floor.

"You know what?" Harry began to raise his voice. "No. You can't. Not until you stop believing you are a bad person."

Draco laughed a mirthless, bitter laugh. "I don't _think_ so, Potter. I have proof."

And with that, Draco pulled up his left sleeve.


	8. Chapter 8

He'd known, of course. He spent enough time watching Draco Malfoy to know the exact day he came to school branded with the dark mark. But seeing it, the awfulness with which it bruised his clear pale skin- it made Harry sick. It made Harry angry. The way Draco looked away, couldn't quite look at it. The way he held his gaze instead on Harry, daring him to flinch, daring him to prove Draco right. It was this look, this belief that no one could ever find good in him- that made Harry say what he did next.

"I know."

Draco froze, his breath heavy.

"Potter, this is the sign of Voldemort and his followers. This is the sign of the man that has been trying to kill you since you were a year old, this is the sign of the _man who killed your parents-"_

Suddenly Harry broke wide open.

" _I KNOW THAT MALFOY. DO YOU THINK I COULD FUCKING FORGET?"_

"Then how could you _possibly think-_ "

"BECAUSE I KNOW YOU, DRACO"

Harry shouted, and then looked away quickly, embarrassed.

"I just know you, okay?"

Draco scoffed, "You don't know any-"

Harry ignored him.

"I know you and I know you would never

take the mark if you thought you had another choice. I don't know how I know, or why I still believe in such an insufferable _prat_ but I-"

"God, Potter. You are so pathetic! Not everyone is worth saving, you know, not everyone is _redeemable-_ "

"YOU are worth redeeming. I know you, how many times do I have to say it? I know you, and I know your favorite kind of tea is chamomile even though you won't tell a soul, because it calms you down. I know your mother sends you a letter everyday, and I know you write back every single day, but your father hasn't sent you a single letter since first year, and I know it bothers you, no matter how much you pretend. I know you love Parkinson like a sister, and I know how much you wish that was enough.

I know you help Margery Locust with her potions homework everyday at lunch because she's atrocious at it, but also because she doesn't have friends and you don't want her to be lonely. And I know you lose weight when you get upset,

And I know you've got continuously thinner since you came back to school with that _thing_ on your arm, and I know you cry over the radio when it announces another death caused by Voldemort and his followers and-"

Harry shaking now, his breath ragged.

"And I know you are a good person, Draco, even if you can't see it."

He looked at Malfoy then, struggling to control his heartbeat as the reality of everything he'd said, everything he'd admitted, swam over him. The blond boy was staring at him, unwavering, his jaw open lightly, slightly agape. His neck and face were flushed, and his cheeks were wet. Tears freely flowed from his eyes, and he was looking at Harry like the world had just stopped spinning.

Harry felt caught. There was a vulnerability to Draco now, a fragility, that Harry had never seen before, not even when Draco was bent over a radio in his dormitory in tears, his body rocked with sobs. This, somehow, was more intimate. Draco wasn't even trying to hide it, wasn't concealing a damn thing. He was only standing there, looking at Harry as if he was someone Draco had never met. Harry's chest was all at once filled with the need to go to him, a fire in his stomach, burning insatiably.

Draco finally spoke, in a voice that was a broken, gentle sort of wonder.

"Potter?"

It was a question, and all the sudden, Harry knew the answer, felt it rise in his throat, tighten in the bottom of his stomach. He ran forward, noting the way Draco's eyes widened,

Stopping when their noses were almost touching.

"It's Harry,"

He whispered,

And leaned in.


	9. Chapter 9

**/Author's Note: Thanks to Gleek263 for motivating me to write this chapter! I know it's been a little while, but I hope it's worth it! What do you guys think about this Draco?/**

 **Draco**

Draco reeled his arm back, because he was going to _punch_ Potter's lights out, was going to teach him for- For this, whatever this was, for acting like he _knew_ like he could possibly _know_ Draco. But then Potter was there, right in front of him, and his eyes were burning, and then- _oh!-_ they were closing, and he was pressing his lips against Draco's, and " _It's Harry"_ , and Potter was kissing him. _Harry_ was kissing him. And maybe Draco had died after all, because he couldn't imagine any other scenario in which he would know the way Harry tasted.

But he couldn't be dead, because if he was, Harry wouldn't be pulling away, wouldn't be stiffening, wouldn't be stepping back- wouldn't look so... Afraid? Draco felt his heart drop. He hadn't meant it. Of course he hadn't, how could he? He'd simply been impulsive, been a gryffindor. Been a savior.

And, for the first time since Potter had walked through the door, Draco managed a neutral mask, managed to shut it all off. To shut him out.

 **Harry**

He didn't kiss back. Of course he didn't. He'd been mental, kissing Draco like that. He stepped back, ashamed, with nowhere to run. He looked away. When Draco didn't say anything, he looked up. It wasn't Draco anymore. It was Malfoy. His face was a mask, almost as if nothing had happened, nothing had changed. Harry hated it. He felt rage boil inside him, wanted to kick and scream and throw Malfoy out a window. He wanted _a reaction_ , not some facade, not some cop out. He wanted Draco to-

"Say something." Harry blurted.

Draco looked, at him, carefully calm, emotionless.

"What's there to say? You got it over with, didn't you?"

"What? Got what over with?"

Draco looked at him, incredulous.

"Listen. I don't know what Pansy- What she told you, but you were in no way obligated to be the hero. I don't _need your pity, Potter._ "

Harry wanted to scream.

"Parkinson? What does Parkinson- wait? When you said- why you came in here- that she had figured something out? What's that got to do with-"

There was a moment of silence, as Harry thought. There was an obvious explanation, but it seemed so... so _foolishly narcissistic_ , Harry almost couldn't believe it.

He thought back, trying to remember Draco's exact words.

" _..I've done, and she still thinks I deserve this and I don't know how to kindly tell her I'm a worthless piece of -"_

He stepped forward.

"Draco."

"Don't touch me, Potter."

"Draco, listen, I didn't know, I didn't rea-"

" _Then why do it?"_ Draco spat, disgusted.

There was a moment, while Harry worked up to what he needed to say.

"Because I wanted to, okay? Because I've wanted to for... For what seems like a really long time."

The mask on Draco's face flickered briefly,

"Then why pull away?"

Now his voice is soft, betraying, afraid.

Harry flushes.

"Because you- you didn't-"

"Potter?"

"You didn't kiss me back, Draco."

Suddenly, Draco's mask shattered, and he smiled,

A blinding kind of radiance that put every other feeling to shame.

He stood there for a minute, just looking at Harry.

Harry wondered briefly if Draco was laughing at him.

"Malfoy..."

"It's Draco," the blonde said,

And then pounced.


	10. Chapter 10

**Draco**

They kissed until their lips were sore. The light filtering through the windowless room danced in Harry's hair, that _beautiful,_ messy hair. Draco wrapped his hands in it.

When they were done kissing, or rather, when they became too breathless to remain going on in the same way, Harry looked down at him, and his breath abruptly stopped.

"What is it, Potter?"

He tried to sound annoyed, but it simply came out scared.

Was Harry coming to his senses? Was Draco about to be pushed out of his arms, slammed against a wall, and beat within an inch of his life?

Probably.

"This is a fucking mistake, isn't it."

Draco sighed, as if tears were not already pricking his eyes.

"Of course."

He sounded hurt, though he didn't mean to.

"No!" Harry sat up suddenly, looking at Draco panicked.

"Not you! You- you aren't a mistake."

Draco felt his heart, the bloody traitor, leap in hope.

"Then what," Draco said through gritted teeth, "is the mistake?"

Harry laughed then, but it wasn't funny. No, this was a cruel, slytherin laugh. This was a laugh that reminded Draco of his father and made his blood go cold. This wasn't Harry's laugh, light and full of affection. This was a bitter laugh, and it echoed off the walls of the room like a dastardly symphony. Suddenly, Draco was alone on the floor, Harry having pushed him away and stood up quickly, and who now proceeded to pace the entire circumference of the room.

"Potter."

"This isn't real. This isn't fucking real."

Draco looked at the Gryffindor, now furiously beating at the door.

Safe to say, Draco was a tad confused by the whole show.

"Potter," He tried again.

"-This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't-"

" _Potter!_ " Draco hissed.

" _What. Isn't. Real?_ "

Harry turned to look at him, pained. Draco's breath stopped as Harry's mouth worked, opening and closing, as if the boy was searching for air, rather than words. A horrible, slightly hilarious thought occurred to Draco.

"Potter, I swear on my mother's life that if you pass out, I will-"

"You."

Draco stopped, jarred by the interruption. He had been, in fact, quite certain that Harry would sit quietly while draco berated him.

"What?"

"You. You aren't real."

"Really?" Draco faked surprise. "Why Potter, you should have told me."

" _This isn't fucking funny,_ " Potter hisses.

Suddenly, Draco is moving.

He crosses the room in two strides, trying to ignore his shaking hands.

He grabbed ahold of Potter, looking him dead in the eye.

"Harry _-_ "

"Harry's eyes well up, and he shoves Draco away.

"Stay the fuck away from me, Malfoy."

But, much as he may try, that isn't really an option for Draco anymore.

Not now that he knows; that he has _hope_ for this.

But he cannot take the rejection another time.

Can't handle if he was pushed away again, trying to get through to Harry.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

He hauled his arm back, locked eyes with Potter-

And punched him right in the jaw.


End file.
